


A Piacere

by prunesquallormd



Series: Giving up these kisses [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-13
Updated: 2010-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prunesquallormd/pseuds/prunesquallormd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny visits Luna in her place of work. Honestly, it's porn, what do you <i>think</i> happens?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Piacere

_**Fic: A Piacere (Ginny/Luna NC-17)**_  
 **Title:** A Piacere  
(Part 3 of "Giving Up These Kisses")  
 **Fandom:** Harry Potter  
 **Pairing:** Ginny/Luna  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Summary:** Ginny visits Luna in her place of work. Honestly, it's porn, what do you _think_ happens?  
Word count: 5000 words of rather fluffy, unashamedly romantic smut.  
Warnings: None to speak of. A teeny bit of very, very light and entirely consensual bondage. Nothing other than that, really.  
Disclaimer: Obviously all the characters and pretty much everything else belong to JK Rowling. This is just for fun!

Weeks and weeks ago, I promised [](http://perverbially.livejournal.com/profile)[**perverbially**](http://perverbially.livejournal.com/) a story as a belated birthday present. That story is currently stalled due to my total and utter fail at anything even remotely resembling plot. In its place she's been kind enough to accept this rather fluffy bit of smut as a sort of _un_ birthday present.  
Sorry to make you wait so long, dude. I hope you enjoy it ♥

  
Author's Note 1: Betaing, moral support, and all sorts of useful input and suggestions were provided by the very lovely [](http://flister.livejournal.com/profile)[**flister**](http://flister.livejournal.com/). I might have finished this earlier without her help, but also far less well, and I'd certainly be nowhere near as happy with it. So, thank her for the parts that work here, and blame me for the ones that don't.  
Thanks Flis, you're a star ♥  
AND OH MY GOD, I'VE JUST NOTICED IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY! HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETIE <3<3<3\. I hope it's a fab one :)

A/N 2: This is the third part of a loosely linked series of Ginny/Luna stories that I've finally decided to give an overall title, so it's now called "Giving Up These Kisses" (stolen from a song by Tori Amos, via a rather lovely mix that Sivi did for her Fate is Overgrown last June). The other parts can be found [here](http://prunesquallormd.livejournal.com/44440.html) and [here](http://prunesquallormd.livejournal.com/49254.html)

A/N 3: It's been pointed out to me that asking my real life friends not to read things that I post here just makes them curious as to what it is, which is reasonable enough. But really, it's just very fluffy, but also rather explicit, smut. I can't for the life of me understand why you'd want to read porn by someone you actually know, but if you must, please, never, _ever_ tell me. Thanks :)

So anyway, I've rambled on more than enough. Without further ado:-

\-------------------------------------------------------------------  
 **A Piacere**  
  
Kingsley Shacklebolt – tall, elegant, collected; as comfortable in his skin as anyone you've ever met – leans casually against the back wall of your rather pokey office, tapping at a temple with his wand. It's a somewhat unlikely attitude for the Minister for Magic to adopt, but Kingsley carries it off with ease, managing to appear both relaxed and eminently competent. You straighten in your seat, flustered to an unaccustomed degree and trying not to show it.

“Really, Luna,” Kingsley is saying, with an enthusiasm that belies his casual stance, “I'm extremely impressed. If your most recent work in the field comes up to your usual standard, we're pretty much out of the woods. You've done us all proud. The department owes you a great debt.”

The Department of Cryptozoology, he means – created on his orders, to a less than enthusiastic response, if you're honest. The fact that you constitute its entire staff – head, secretary, tea girl, field researcher, and general dogsbody – bothers you not one jot. It's a dream come true.

It's more than possible that you're actually glowing. You take a few moments, doing your best to respond professionally.

“Well, thank you, Kingsley.” He's long since insisted that you use his first name, at least in private. You've been through too much together to stand on ceremony. “I know the risks you took with the department. I'm happy you think my work's worth it.”

“Oh, I knew it would be, but it's always good to be proven right.”

He winks at you. It's a gesture that many of his subordinates would find disconcerting. You're used to it, though.

“Oh, always.” You return his wink with an easy smile. It's sisterly, almost – affectionate.

The knock is expected, but not entirely welcome. You'd hoped to be rid of Kingsley before it came. You certainly aren't overjoyed when he throws your office door open with a grin.

“Ah, Ginevra, how delightful. I was just thinking last night that it's been far too long since you visited us,” he says. It's more than enough to make you wonder exactly how _much_ he's been thinking about Ginny's visits to the Ministry. More than you'd like, you can be certain of that.

If Ginny's thrown by the welcome, it's not apparent in her voice. She actually sounds pleased.

“Kingsley, it's been too long. You're looking so well. True love's obviously been good for you.”

You watch as her arms snake around his back and she envelopes him in a brief, fierce hug, before manoeuvring through the door into your field of vision. Her hair is done in two braids – oh, Jesus; you close your eyes, swallowing convulsively – tied with bows, hanging forward over her shoulders. Her legs – from the point where her blue summer dress stops, mid-thigh, to her ballet pumps – are bare. You grip the edge of your desk harder than is entirely necessary as your eyes glide upwards, pausing with a wince at the slight grazes on her knees (barely visible, really, except that she's so very pale); with an inaudible sigh at the curve of her hips, at her chest, where her hair rests against her skin, eventually finding her gaze. She looks amused. You shift in your chair, suddenly embarrassingly wet.

You hear Kingsley cough and tear your eyes from Ginny's. He's regarding you quizzically, a slight smile playing around his lips.

“Well, you clearly have things to talk about. I'd better get back to it. I'm told the PM's on the warpath. No rest for the wicked, hey? I'll wish you good day, then. Ms. Lovegood, _Mrs_. Potter.”

Are you imagining the emphasis, the excessive formality? _So_ un-Kingsley.

He withdraws quietly, not waiting for a response.

Ginny remains motionless as she listens to Kingsley's footsteps recede, her eyes drinking you in. They linger on your white shirt, the waistcoat, and the loosely knotted tie. She raises her eyebrows.

“What _is_ this? Bring your inner lesbian to work day?” she says, her smile broadening.

“What? Don't you like it? I picked it out for you. Is it too blatant?” You're pouting a little. You can't help it.

“Oh, no. I like. Really. A _lot_.” Her voice is breathy. “And who cares about blatant when you look like that?”

You're actually _sure_ you're glowing now.

“Still,” you say. “It's lucky you're married, otherwise people might say we're in love. Kingsley, for one.”

Ginny laughs; it's not entirely carefree, either.

“Are you kidding? He _so_ knows. Jesus, you couldn't have done a worse job of not staring at my tits if you'd tried.”

Her head cocks at the sound of the fire door at the end of the corridor and she finally moves towards you.

“Anyway, we can worry about that later. We've got more important thing things to do.”

She leans across your desk, grasping your tie firmly and pulling you, slowly, irresistibly, to her lips. You realise that you've been holding your breath since the sound of that last door reached your ears and you let it out shakily, just as your lips meet.

It's … it's nothing you'll ever feel equal to the task of describing. You've kissed Ginny Weasley so many times, each time different, each a moment of magic. You wonder if it's like this for everyone; hope for their sakes that it is.

The kiss is slow yet greedy, overwhelming. Her lips – chapped and reddened from days of Quidditch practice (and you can't understand how that can make her look _more_ beautiful) – move hungrily against yours, devouring you. You sigh into her mouth. If you were wet before, your knickers are flooded now. The heat in your belly is almost unbearable.

You shift up, out of your chair, pushing it backwards so violently that it hits the wall with a thud, your lips still melded to Ginny's as you begin to edge your way from behind your desk. (You're trying so hard to be gentle, her lips look so sore, but Ginny's hardly returning the favour, currently has your lower lip trapped firmly between her teeth).

Ginny mirrors your movements, refusing to release your mouth, and God, you're not complaining; you've never felt so much devotion in the simple act of kissing before, never felt so completely _consumed_. As you finally emerge – it's mere moments, really, but it seems _so_ much longer – Ginny backs you against the wall, her hands on your shoulders. They don't stay there for long though and the left slips behind your neck, the right travelling to your breast, palming it roughly.

A whimper forces itself out from between you lips, is lost in Ginny's mouth as she continues her not-so-delicate discovering of your own. You can't think. Sensation overwhelms you; your mind is a red haze. You need to get closer, there's still too much distance between you. Too much.

You're clinging to Ginny, leaning heavily on her shoulders. You're not sure you'll be able to stay standing if you let go. Your legs part slightly, almost of their own accord, allowing Ginny's thigh to slip between them before closing tightly around it. Your entire being is focused on your lips, her hand on your breast, your cunt. It's like a tide, swelling and surging, threatening to pull you under, to drown you.

You're sure you're moaning unceasingly into Ginny's mouth now, as your thighs close more firmly around hers, desperately looking for just the right contact.

There. Just _there_.

Ginny's dress rides up as you jerk again and again against her leg.

That friction. There. Oh God. Oh _Jesus_.

You can't help yourself, never could around her, not really. And _this_ Ginny? She's a force of nature, undeniable. Why would you _ever_ deny her?

Another thrust, hard against her – “Oh fuck.” It's a high-pitched _squeal_ – and you shatter. You suck in breath after breath, your exhalations sounding almost agonised, even to your own ears, as your whole body gives itself up. It's all you can do to hang around Ginny's neck as she pushes – firm, rhythmic, merciless – against you.

After – what? Seconds? Minutes? _Hours_? You have no frame of reference, your brain has ceased to function on all but the most basic level – her movements slow as she eases you slowly, carefully down.

“Oh Jesus.” Your legs are boneless, your arms little better; only the wall at your back and Ginny's body against yours keep you from crumpling to the floor.

As your eyes flicker open Ginny is looking at you, smoothing your hair gently away from your forehead with one hand. She looks incredibly amused. And, you realise, as sense returns, _incredibly_ smug. You're _mortified_.

“Oh my God, Lu,” she says. “ _Seriously_?”

“Oh God.” You still haven't got your breath back, and now you're flushed from something other than simple desire. “I'm _so_ sorry. Would you believe me if I said that's never happened to me before?”

Ginny is enjoying this _far_ too much.

“Jesus, you're like a teenage boy. I can't believe you actually humped my leg. I feel so used.” She's smirking now.

You can hardly look at her. You feel _horrible_.

“I'm sorry,” you say again, your voice barely a whisper. It's all you _can_ say.

Ginny knows that she's gone too far. She strokes your cheek, lifts your chin so that she can look you in the eye.

“Hey, it's ok,” she says gently. “I'm kidding, you know that, right? Christ, I've had three children. Harry can hardly stand to look at me. Do you have any idea how it makes me feel that you can't control yourself for more than three minutes when I'm with you?”

You blush, stupidly want to defend yourself (and really, this is so not about _that_ ); content yourself with a simple “How?” Your voice still sounds tiny.

Ginny's still stroking your cheek; it's an action that's always soothed you, and it does its job now. Your embarrassment is fading, and as it does, your awareness of her proximity reasserts itself.

“Loved, wanted, needed,” Ginny says. “Lu, I know I fucked up. I do. God, every time I see Harry I know how much. He's unhappy, I'm unhappy. We fight _constantly_. Of course, he makes a point of being away with work as much as he can, so maybe not constantly, just, you know, when we're in the same country. The only reason we're still together is the kids.

“God, I'm so stupid and so selfish, but you still waited for me. I don't know why, but you did, and that makes me feel _so_ lucky. I'll make everything right. I'll leave him. I will. Just give me a little time, yeah?”

Your voice is husky when you finally find a reply. “Gin, could you not talk about your husband when I'm imagining how I'm going to fuck you? It's just _off-putting_.”

You have your equilibrium back now, and you're determined that she's going to benefit from it. You kiss her gently, softening your words, and she softens in turn, sighing against your lips. Such is your relationship, its ebbs and flows; has been this way for as long as you remember. Always changing. Always surprising. _Mostly_ wonderful. (You've never told her how badly her inability to choose has hurt you; could never see the point really.)

Ginny's hand stills. You turn your head, grasping her wrist so you can bring her palm to your lips. Your other hand has found its way to her inner thigh, is lightly stroking up and down it. The material of her dress is so light that it barely registers. With each stroke your fingers trace their way farther up her leg. And then you're so close that you can feel the heat of her. Your eyes meet hers, hold them. They're hooded, and the image of them rolling back, as you've seen them do so many times before, flashes to the front of your mind, makes your breath catch. She parts her lips slightly, moistening them.

A fourth time and your fingers don't stop short; they gently graze the material of her knickers. She hisses softly. You've never felt her so wet.

“Oh _God_ , Gin,” you breathe. “For me?”

You still doubt, sometimes; don't believe that you're _here_. That after all these years, it's finally happening.

Her eyelids flicker as you stroke her.

“Of course,” she says, her voice a whisper that becomes a soft moan as your finger lightly brushes her clit through the material. “It's always been you. _Always_.”

She's frozen now, as if any sudden movement will make you stop. As if anything _could_ make you stop. She lets out a shaky breath that derails into another moan as you brush your hand firmly – from the heel of your palm to the tips of your fingers – along her cunt. You curl your fingers as your hand essays the same path over and over, fingering her through her knickers.

Ginny buries her face in the curve of you neck, stifling a sound that's more like a gasp than anything else, as your fingers press firmly. You still your hand for a moment. Your left hand is stroking her hair as you cup her cunt with your right, just enjoying the heat of her, her slickness. She rolls her hips, trying to grind herself against your hand, but you move with her, denying her the pressure she's all but begging for. You want to savour this moment of calm, the quiet broken only by those sounds of _wanting_ that you so love; whimpers and moans from low in her throat. She's speaking too, a too-quiet litany that vibrates against the base of your neck.

And so the second unwelcome knock of the day finds you, fully clothed yet feeling more exposed than you've ever been. Finally, you can hear what Ginny is saying as well as feel it.

"Oh God," she says, her voice the tiniest whisper. You feel her arm round your shoulders tighten as she pulls you into her. She snakes her other hand between your bodies, grasping at your wrist to hold your own hand firmly in place, pushing herself against it. "Don't answer it. Please?"

She's rolling her hips against your hand even more insistently more, moaning into your neck. It's _intoxicating_. You take a deep breath, licking your lips and tasting Ginny's lip-gloss on them. (Cherry, it's always cherry. You can hardly even taste it now without becoming aroused in some highly embarrassing Pavlovian reaction).

The knock – Kingsley's, sharp without being peremptory – comes again. Your heart – if possible – beats even faster. Patient and understanding though he is, surely even Kingsley will look askance at this. He knows you're still here – he must do – and he's not going to wait for much longer.

"Just a minute," you call, your heart sinking at the slight catch in your throat. You gently lift Ginny's chin with your free hand. Her face is prettily flushed. You're breathing into each other's mouths, her face is so close to yours. You want nothing more than to just kiss her, to soothe her lips – already chapped and even more red and swollen now – with your tongue. You press your thighs together, trying to quell the throbbing in your cunt. If anything, it has the opposite effect, making it painfully clear exactly how drenched your knickers are.

Ginny's chest is rising and falling against yours at a ridiculous rate. One ribbon has somehow come loose from her hair and the plait it was adorning has begun to come undone (and God, it looks _adorable_ ).

Oh Jesus. She couldn't look more beautiful now if she tried.

You're _so_ fucked.

You drop your eyes; you don't think you'll be able to stop if you keep looking at her.

"Ginny, we can't just leave it," you say, your voice barely even a whisper, "It's Kingsley. He knows we're in here. Do you think he'll just go?"

On cue, a third knock comes, and Ginny finally releases you, allowing you to take a single step away from her. She takes a step to the side to end up half-sitting, half-leaning against your desk. She picks up a report and feigns rapt interest as you make one last attempt to slow your breathing to a rate that doesn't just _scream_ illicit sexual activity.

“Yes? Come in?” you say, not even managing to force those few words out without a very obvious waver.

The door swings open. Kingsley follows it briskly, words on his lips already.

“Ah, sorry, Luna, Ginny. Adelaide will kill me if I forget again, and while you're both in one place...” He hesitates, very obviously taking in the scene before him. His gaze pauses on the back of Ginny's head (and you can only imagine how dishevelled her hair looks from that angle) flicks to you, leaning against the wall, your face composed into an expression of carefully expectant innocence, all _Who? Me? I'm sure I have_ no idea _what you could be suggesting_.

He doesn't buy it for a moment, that much is painfully clear.

“So, ah, yes. I've been instructed to inform you that we're having a dinner party next Friday,” he says, studiously ignoring the implications of what he's looking at. Not even an eyebrow twitches. “Obviously you and Harry are invited, Ginevra. And perhaps you could mention it to Hermione and Ron? It would be lovely to catch up with them.”

From the corner of your eye you can see Ginny staring at the words before her, unmoving, blushing furiously. Her voice, at least, is clear and confident as she replies.

“That would be wonderful, Kingsley. I'm sure they'd love to. I'll look forward to it.”

Your own relaxed smile is rendered rather less effective by the fact that you seem unable to force coherent words past the tightness in your throat. The smile stays in place just that little bit longer than strictly necessary, starts to become a grimace that you attempt to cover up with some enthusiastic nodding.

Oh, sweet Jesus. Make it stop.

Kingsley takes pity on you, allowing his gaze to drift upwards to the rather expressionistic picture of a nargle that has pride of place on the wall behind your desk.

“Splendid. I'll tell Adelaide that we're expecting the three of you and perhaps Hermione and Ron, too. Let me know for sure as soon as you can, yes? Anyway, yes, right. Things to do, people to see and all that. Do carry on.”

Ginny's face is still doing its best to match the colour of her hair as the door clicks quietly shut and Kingsley's footsteps repeat their echoing retreat down the corridor.

“Oh God.” Her voice is part anguish, part outrage. “Carry on? _Carry on_? Is he deliberately trying to fuck with us? Jesus!”

Your heart feels like it's trying to climb out of your throat. You're actually shaking. That was just a little _too_ close.

You take a little while to find your voice, although it's easier now your boss isn't gazing at you with that bland, reasonable, tolerant, utterly _knowing_ expression of his.

“It's ok, Gin, Kingsley won't tell. He's not the type, and he likes you too much to make things hard for you. You still have as long as you need.” There's that sing-song lilt that your voice has never really lost. You're well aware that it can be a liability; you try to control it in the office now, to sound more determined and matter-of-fact. It's always succeeded in calming Ginny, though. She raises her head, finally, looking you in the eye with a wicked smile.

“Ok, then. Well, he's _your_ boss. I think you should do what he says. And anyway, my knickers are fucking ruined, so if I'm going to have to walk through the Ministry of sodding Magic with my underwear in a bag, I really think you should make it worth my while.” Ginny reaches for her bag, digging out her wand and charming your office door firmly sealed, gazing at you the  
whole time.

“Oh you _do_ , do you?” It will never stop surprising you – delighting you – how she can do this. Already the horrifying embarrassment of the last few minutes seems like a distant memory. There's nothing but desire now. That and such an overwhelming feeling of love that it would scare you if you stopped for one moment to think about it.

You close the distant between you quickly, gently parting her knees so you can step between them. You kiss her softly, soothing her lips with your tongue.

“Whatever could you have in mind?” you ask, your mouth moving against her lips in a teasing whisper.

You feel her fingers working agilely at the buttons of your shirt, making easy work of them before she pulls at your tie.

“Well, I was thinking you could show me what this thing's for. It can't _just_ be for decoration, surely?”

You slip your hand down her dress, pushing her bra out of the way and palming her breast. You push Ginny back against your desk, pressing firmly against her with your thigh, eliciting a whimpering sigh from her even as she loosens your tie and slips it over your head. Your lips find hers again as soon as they're able, and you're struggling to be gentle now. She pulls you in, wordlessly begging you to deepen the kiss, and you're incapable of doing anything but complying. Your tongue presses between open lips, meeting Ginny's, dancing around it as she sighs into your mouth. You're pressing against her, frustration boiling up in you as you feel clothing where there should be skin.

You pull back for a moment, heedless of her complaints, and in moments you're free of your clothes (buttons burst at the cuffs of your shirt, at the waist of your trousers, as you yank them off). You wait a moment, impatiently, as Ginny pulls down her dress, raising her bum from the desk slightly to let it slide to the floor. Her knickers are nearly translucent; her bra is pulled below her nipples, one of the straps off her shoulder. You take a moment to let the image sear its way into your brain as she holds out your tie, its knot still intact. You take it slowly and she raises her hands, wrists together, fingers laced, her eyes wide. You hesitate for the briefest moment.

“You're sure?” You need to hear it, need to be certain.

“Oh Jesus, yes,” she says, her voice shaky.

The heat in your belly seems all-consuming now. You can't even believe that you came, what? Less than ten minutes ago? Your legs are shaking so much you can hardly stand.

You slip out of your bra and knickers with a haste that you'd describe as unseemly if the circumstances didn't make the term utterly ridiculous. You reach behind Ginny hurriedly, divest her of her own bra, then gently press her hands together again, slipping the loop of the tie around her wrists and sliding it closed. She steals a kiss from your lips before raising her hands above her head and leaning slowly backwards, hardly giving you a chance to sweep your desk clear of _everything_ before she comes to rest with a sigh, her back flat and her legs dangling over the edge.

You reach your wand from a drawer and tap the place where the length of the tie is curling away from her wrists, muttering a charm that causes it to snake underneath the wood and bond itself against the wood.

“Is that ok?” you ask her softly.

She raises her head briefly, stares at you, her eyes bright and almost feverish. Her tongue flickers over her slightly parted lips as she nods slowly before letting her head fall back again. She wiggles her hips a little, sighing. You're utterly transfixed. You can't even say you've dreamed of this moment, not really, not like this. But _God_ , you will after this. It'll probably be difficult to stop the image coming to the forefront of your brain at the _most_ inopportune moments.

You sink to your knees between her thighs, placing a soft, almost _chaste_ kiss on her sodden knickers, just above her clit, before you lick, just once, along the length of her cunt. Her whole body quakes, and, if possible, she strains her legs even wider, pushing herself towards your mouth.

You curse yourself a little then as you pull her knickers aside, realising that they'll occupy a hand that could be employed in much more enjoyable activities. Ginny whimpers as she feels you shuffle backwards on your knees and gently ease her legs closed.

“Christ Lu, I'm going insane here,” she says, sounding incredibly pained. “Will you _please_ just fuck me.”

You giggle, grasping the waistband of her knickers and yanking them swiftly down, finally divesting her of her last piece of clothing. You kiss them and place them carefully to one side.

“Sorry, honey,” you whisper. “Just a little failure of foresight. I think you're all ready now.”

And as Ginny moans gently before you, you rise to your feet – a little shakily – and just _look_. Her eyes are closed, her lips slightly parted. Her head is framed between her arms, which are pulled tightly above it, her fingers still clasped, her plaits a little messy but still holding in place. Her breasts – small, high, perfect – rise and fall quickly.

Your eyes follow the length of her body: her belly, the curve of her hips, her legs swinging slowly back and forth. It's a motion that's almost incongruous: innocent and relaxed. A motion that, more than anything, tells you that this is where she wants to be.

Your heart is beating out of your chest now, so full of love and desire that you're not sure you'll be able to contain it for long. You ache to taste her, to feel her shatter under your tongue, and yet you need to be closer to her than that. You need to kiss her, to watch her face, to see her eyes as she comes.

Almost as if she can read your thoughts, Ginny opens her eyes as you slide up her body, relishing the softness of her skin against yours. You meet her lips in a kiss that's deep but achingly soft as you gently squeeze her clit between two fingers and stroke it in small, quick circles, pausing every so often to dip into her teasingly. She groans into your mouth, straining upwards, whispering your name over and over.

It doesn't take long in the end, and you can't really blame her for that. Her breathing becomes shallower, faster; she's doing her best to trap your fingers each time they go inside. As the moment comes, with a high, wordless keening unlike any noise you've ever heard her make, you release her lips, watching as her eyes roll back and flutter closed.

“I love you,” you say softly, as she unravels beneath you. Wonderful. Beautiful. Yours.

You continue to stroke her, your fingers slowing, as she rides out her climax. After an impossibly long moment her body relaxes under you, every muscle untensing. Ginny's hips cant upwards as her legs, all strength gone, fall almost to the floor. She sucks in the longest breath, releasing it in a gentle sigh, her lips curving in a smile.

You return her smile as she opens her eyes, planting soft kisses at the corners of her mouth, her nose, forehead, and, finally, her lips. They move against yours as you kiss her, soundlessly, but you don't need to hear her to know what she's saying. Three words, over and over.

There are tears, unbidden, unexpected, in your eyes as you pull away.

“So,” you whisper, your voice cracking a little. “Worth the wait?”

“Oh god, Lu, _always_. Every single year of it.” Ginny lifts her head as far as she can, to catch your eyes with a look so intense you can hardly breathe. “You won't have to wait much longer. Just a little while, yeah?”

The words are familiar, but there's a new determination to them now, a certainty that you finally share.

You can't help it though. She's here, now. You know this moment has to end soon. Who could blame you for wanting to prolong it?

“Gin, do you mind if I don't untie you for a bit. Keep you here for a little longer?” you ask her, the crack gone, replaced with a fervour that has nothing to do with desire.

She strains forward as far as her bonds will allow and you drop your head towards her to meet her lips. It's the only answer you need.

You tell her 'thank you' with your kisses for long, slow minutes, tracing shapes on her skin with still-wet fingers. She sighs into your mouth, and when you break the kiss, pulling away a little just to look at her, she looks back with an expression of utter contentment.

You've waited for so long, _shared_ her for so long. It's only fair that you get to hold onto her for now, to keep her like this. It's her gift to you and it's _so_ Ginny. Direct, obvious, honest. She's let you trap her body, but you're as much a prisoner as she is, really. It's better than you even imagined.  



End file.
